


The Confessional Booth

by HolmesianDeduction



Series: 25 Days of Holiday Fic 2k12 [2]
Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: 25 Days of Fic, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Implied Relationships, M/M, Morocco - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[25 Days of Holiday Fic: Day 2 - Hot Chocolate]</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Haydon, once his confessor; Haydon, always good for a laugh, a chat, and a cup of burnt coffee...”</em> (Le Carré, <em>Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy</em> 358)<br/> <br/><em></em><br/><em>Still haunted by his butchered agents in Morocco, a young Peter Guillam seeks solace in Bill Haydon's office.</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confessional Booth

             “You’re late.”

             Peter froze for a moment until Bill’s stern expression shifted into a crooked smile, and stretching, he sat up on the chaise longue. swinging his legs over the side and gesturing for Peter to close the door.  Smiling back, Peter shut the door behind him and leaned against it.  “Didn’t know I had an appointment.”

             Bill laughed, standing up and stretching again like a house cat just woken from its nap.  “Of course you had a bloody appointment - can’t just let your lot wander in whenever you feel like it, can I?”  Peter hesitated, watching Bill’s back for cues, and as if sensing his hesitation, the older man called over his shoulder, “Sit down will you?”  This was followed by a muffled curse and Bill leaving the room at faster than his usual indoor pace.

             Relaxing just a bit without any eyes on him, Peter allowed himself to stretch out a bit on the longue, his eyes fluttering shut in the relative silence of Bill’s isolated pepperpot office.  It wasn’t until he heard Bill’s voice entirely too close to his ear that he even noticed that the other man had returned.

             “Shoes off if you’re going to do that.”

             His eyes snapping open just as Bill pulled back, Peter immediately sat upright, averting his eyes sheepishly as Bill settled into where he had moved his leather desk chair next to the sofa.  Finally, he gratefully accepted one of the two steaming mugs Bill had brought back with him, but frowned at the distinct absence of the acrid aroma of burnt coffee.

             “Seems we’re out of coffee - just hot cocoa left.”  Bill took a sip from his own mug and shrugged.  “I don’t mind it, but there’ll be hell to pay when Control notices.”

             Laughing softly, Peter took a sip, noting with some relief, that Bill had gone light on the cinnamon.  “God save the mothers then.”

             Bill snorted.  “Or Toby.”  Then suddenly his face was serious again, and slightly pensive in what Peter considered a concerned sort of way.  “What brings you up here?”  He raised a knowing eyebrow.  “It’s not girl trouble again, is it?”

             “Oh no!  Not at all!”  Peter brushed the suggestion away in mock horror, all the while hoping Bill wouldn’t flip the question - everyone may have known about Bill, but Peter wasn’t prepared for, nor did he desire quite so open an existence.  “It’s - “

             He didn’t finish his sentence before something seemed to click in Bill’s head, and the older man’s expression shifted by a fraction.  “Morocco’s still haunting you, isn’t it?”

             Falling silent, Peter nodded gingerly.  It pained him to admit it, but it was true.  After a few months, he had been able to sleep properly again, but now, six months after the fact, the nightmares had returned, and the shadowed streets and bloodstained alleys of North Africa had lodged themselves permanently in his mind. He was certain it was beginning to show on his face, and even at only thirty-two he had begun watching for signs of premature ageing.

             Bill was silent for a long time, then glanced at his watch before pulling it off and setting it on the desk and locking the door to his office.  Finally he sat back down, and peering at Peter over his mug, began talking in the same clipped, but soothingly musical tones reserved for some of his less infamous lectures at the Nursery.  “I’m going to tell you a story - you’ve probably read this one in the files or been lectured on it, but you and I both know it’s not the same bloody thing, so I expect you to listen.”

             Nodding again, Peter toed his shoes off and tucked his feet under him, allowing his mind to be drawn in and distracted by the sound of Bill’s voice and the warmth of the drink in his hand.


End file.
